“Uh-huh. Well, I’ll think about it when I haven’t got a war to fight,” said Benito. The adult male gruffness in his voice did a poor job of covering the hurt in the boy’s. “We’d better get back to the piazza and find out what that tocsin was all about.”
* * *
The bell was Lucrezia Brunelli’s way of telling the city that its second most important citizen, Ricardo Brunelli, was dead. Murdered.
And not five hundred yards away, a building was burning.
A runner came up, panting. “Arsenalotti! Count Badoero has landed at the Sacca della Misericordia. With many men!”
Chapter 88
Nobody challenged sixty fully armored knights riding through the dark. They crossed the Brenta and the Piave bridges without opposition. Now, as the sky was turning gray with the dawn, they only had the last league or so to go.
“We might be ahead, you know,” said Erik. “They landed at Mestre. We saved a fair distance by going around by sea to Chioggia.”
“Hmm,” said Manfred. “As long as they didn’t meet up with Francesca.”
“No point in worrying about that,” said Erik. “More immediate is the problem of how to stop the forts from opening fire on us. Or what to do if we see Ursula and her escort.”
Manfred snorted. “She has twenty-five Knights and a bunch of Servants of the Holy Trinity. We have sixty. We ride the bastards down.”
Erik was tired and irritable. It had been a long night. “She’ll have picked up an escort, probably from the Scaligers. Possibly arquebusiers. Think, Manfred. And this casket—how do you think she plans to use it?”
Lopez, who had been riding beside them as if he’d been born in the saddle—quite unlike his two companions—turned slightly and answered. “She and the Servants will probably abandon their escort, and head for the fort posing as distressed holy pilgrims. The fort will let them in, particularly when they see one is a woman and there are only five of them. Then I imagine they will release the Woden from the casket. They alone will be protected. When everyone is dead—or flees, which most of them will—the troops will come up and turn the cannon in this fort on the other. And then the enemy will sail through to attack Venice.”
Erik nodded. “That’s what I’d do, I suppose, if that monster in the casket is so powerful. And what would you do about meeting the Knights and the escort?”
“It would depend on the terrain and the light,” answered Lopez. “Arquebuses are inaccurate at the best of times and pretty useless at night.” He eyed the large prince. “Or was the question aimed at you?”
Manfred sighed. “Erik’s trying to get me to say a double feint or something, Senor Lopez. And then he’ll say ‘no, keep it simple, stupid. Always flank them.’ He’s a blasted teacher born.”
There was a flash of teeth in the half-dark from the Basque. “A good one too, then. Simplicity is usually best—in war as in all things.”
Their guide rode up. “There’s a party of soldiers ahead. A barricade. Look like mercenary arquebusiers.”
“Can we go around?”
The guide looked at the heavily armored Knights; shook his head. “Too swampy.”
“They’re not Venetians, are they?” asked Erik.
The guide shook his head again. “Scaliger colors.” Erik was not surprised by the answer. The Scaligers were the ruling family of Verona; traditional allies of Milan and supporters of the Montagnard faction in Italian politics. Since they controlled the Adige route from Venice through the Brenner Pass into the Holy Roman Empire, they had been expected to intervene in the war in alliance with Milan.
“And how far are we from the fort?” asked Manfred.
The guide shrugged. “Half a league. Maybe less.”
“I think we’ve got to move fast, Ritters,” snapped Manfred. “I’ll bet they’ve left their escort and are advancing on foot.”
Erik shook his head. “Scout it quickly first. It shouldn’t take ten minutes, it’ll rest the horses, and it may spell the difference between success and failure. Ursula must plan to arrive when the fort’s defenders can see them easily. That gives us a few minutes.”